Four Eyes
by AmiWearsConverses
Summary: Four Eyes tells the story of Rilin, a naive and brave night elf raised by gnomes, and Rae, a young human girl who survived the destruction of Lordaeron, taking with her a dark secret.


Chapter One

(Dun Morogh, Eastern Kingdoms)

It was a dull day to say the least, and Kharanos was bustling. However, the usually blue skies of the snow-capped, mountainous Dun Morogh were over cast with deep grey clouds and spiteful lashings of rain were hitting the stone of the Thunderbrew Distillery as if they were sent by the Burning Legion itself. A rosy-cheeked, tough skinned old dwarf called Finley guzzled down his last swallow of ale and wiped his beard- as thick and red as when he was a young 'un. Innkeeper Belm came waddling over and took Finley's mug, tossing it back into the steaming kitchens to be washed.

'Bloomin' gorgeous weather, eh?' he commented, leaning over on one chunky elbow, his dark eyes twinkling.

'Aye.' Finley grunted. 'Somethin's brewin' up, I'm tellin' ya.' He was a great believer in common old-world superstition as well as the Holy Light, and was certain that if a storm was brewing up in the sky, something bad was brewing down in the world. Belm roared with laughter (a sound so sudden and loud it once caused a gnome to screech and topple off his stool).

'Finley Jebidiah Knockstone, I have known ya for thirty years this week, and not once have I ever seen ya relax! C'mon, be a gent. Take a top up, bottoms up!' he cheered, taking another frothing mug of ale and placing it in front of Finley's face. Finley grunted again, and scooped up the mug as if it were a long lost child, drinking deeply from its depths.

Belm cocked his head to one side.

'What can an old mate be lookin' so down and out about, eh?'

'Nothin', just a feelin'.'

'Aye?'

'Aye.'

CRASH!

The air outside exploded with the sound of thunder, a rumbling that seemed to shake the plates and cups inside the tavern. Belm sucked his breath in, not even looking up, washing a copper pan. After being in the world for seventy three years, he had seen many things more startling than a clash of thunder. Finley sighed heavily as a fresh wave of rain came cascading through the Distillery hall way.

'Ya know, ya really should be getting that door movin' again, am I not right?'

'Aye. I really should, but business ain't what it used to be in Kharanos, what with Old man Bronzebeard up in Ironforge demandin' more and more ore.' Belm paused for a moment, and smiled. 'I remember when we used to get all them travellers comin' up through the South Gate Pass to see our mountains. Sight seers, they were. Tourists! Now all ya get is them Ironforge guards and…and…warriors! And rogues and paladins and priests and hunters! Mind ya, I don't mind them hunters. They bring me in a good leg o' boar meat if I give 'em a pint on the house, so, no complaints there. Once some bloke brought me in a great plainstrider corpse.'

Finley choked on his ale. 'He never!'

'He most certainly did. The missus cooked it up and fed the latest gnome refugees.'

'Well!'

CRASH!

A second, more ferocious clap of thunder rumbled overhead, sending a flurry of female gnomes scuttling into the Distillery. They were caked in dirt, their little faces just visible over thick scarves and massive cougar fur coats. This wasn't all that strange- but their enormous sacks slung over their tiny bodies were a clear giveaway; they had recently fled from Gnomeregen and the vile troggs that had infested the once thriving city.

They were quickly joined by a male gnome, who had an old, rusting axe under his arm. Belm raised his eyebrows and the gnome laughed.

'Protection, like!' he chuckled, patting the axe. 'Come on, girls,' he said, turning to three of the females, 'and you, dear.' he said, more softly, to the eldest, who was clearly his wife. Belm and Finley guessed the three younger ones were their daughters. The quirky little family trotted along to the bar and hauled themselves up onto stools.

'Flitter's the name, my friend.' said the male gnome, extending a glove-clad hand to Finley to be shaken. 'Rodney Flitter.'

Finley cautiously shook Rodney's hand. He had always been prejudice towards the mechanically minded gnomes – "a bunch o' bolt-heads, the lot of 'em!", he would often curse – but even he couldn't turn away a bunch of refugees, especially some as genuine seeming as these. Rodney nodded towards his family.

'This is my Marion, and our daughters, Kestrel, Andrea, and little Tiffin- keep an eye on her!'

'I'm named after Queen Tiffin Wrynn!' the smallest daughter piped up smugly, her blue eyes shining. Her father shook his head apologetically, but Belm grinned at Tiffin.

'Are ya now, little lass? So, d'ya have any royal powers?'

Tiffin thought about it for a moment, then shook her head, turning red. Belm chuckled.

'I'm only pulling ya leg, little 'un.'

'Don't worry, she knows.' said Marion, tenderly patting Tiffin's mousy hair. 'But I was wondering, could we stay here for the night? We have relatives over in Loch Modan and we'll make haste to them tomorrow morning, but I don't think the girls can stand the storm much longer. Neither can I, for that matter.' she added, taking out a sodden rag and wiping her nose, a huge sneeze following this action.

'Well, the thing is, m'lass, we don't offer accommodation and all that lark here. Believe me, if we did, you'd all be in ya beds already.'

Every Flitters' face fell with these words.

'Couldn't we just curl up and sleep in here, by the fire?' Kestrel whispered, her eyes looking fixedly at the floor.

'Please?' Tiffin added, her voice growing worryingly heavy. Even Andrea, who hadn't said a word, seemed ready to fall down and cry right there.

'Look, I'm truly sorry, I really am. To all of ya.' Belm muttered, his voice filled with guilt. 'But there's nothin' I can do. There's a small refugee camp jus' up the way and round the next hill. They'll have a spare tent, I can guarantee ya that at least.'

Rodney started scrabbling desperately in his pockets, producing several gold and silver coins which clattered onto the bar with a hasty _ding ding ding_. Rodney pushed the coins toward Belm.

'I'll pay you! Look- I'll pay!' he said, more fiercely than he meant, and Belm, for a split second, was frightened of this individual half his size. Finley could sense it, and it angered him. He slammed his ale mug down on the bar, silencing the whole room.

'Right, ya listen to me ya wormy little bolt-head. Belm here is the most decent dwarf ya'll ever meet it your life, and no one – _no one_ – is goin' to make him feel awkward in his own ruddy inn. So, ya can keep this nice and civilised and go up to the camp, or ya can feel my boot where the sun doesn't shine.' he roared. Rodney was still for a moment, then he got up, put his arm around his wife and gestured to his girls.

'Come on, let's go.' he said, not looking anyone in the eye, least of all Finley. 'Keep the coins though,' he added to Belm, who nodded quickly. Tiffin tugged at her mother's coat.

'Are we going to get a bed?'

'No, little one, we'll be in a tent tonight. Doesn't that sound fun?' Marion replied, though her voice was breaking. Kestrel and Andrea each held one of Tiffin's hands and told her to be quiet for a little while, both looking at their mother anxiously. The Flitters left the Distillery just as the sky lit up with lightning.

Finley nodded triumphantly at Belm.

'No need to thank me, mate.'

Belm didn't reply. He didn't even turn round.

When Finley finally left the Distillery at around eight o'clock, the rain had eased only slightly and the wind howled and whipped his body like cruel dark hounds aching for flesh. He looked up and down the road, checking for passing guards, before crossing over and starting to make his way home. As he passed a little mound of snow, he saw five little shadows lurking at its base. He didn't need three guesses to know who it was.

'The camp's up the road and round the next hill, didn't ya hear?' he growled at the shadows. He heard Rodney's voice. He seemed to be in tears.

'Oh, shut your mouth, you crazy git! Can't you see my wife?'

Finley leaned in closer and caught a darkened glimpse of Marion. She was lying in Rodney's arms, her face pale and damp. Her breathing was fast and deep. Finley chewed his chapped lip nervously- he had seen this too many times before.

'Come with me, all of ya. Come to my house.'

'After the way you spoke to me? I'd sooner eat my own feet.'

'Would ya rather your wife died, is that it?' Finley snapped. Rodney stared at him, dumbfounded, then he swallowed heavily.

'Alright. Lead us there.'

Finley reached down and lifted Marion over his shoulder. Rodney, Kestrel, Andrea and Tiffin followed on behind. The Knockstone house was small, but the fire was roaring and Finley's wife, Samyah, was sitting in her armchair, carving a small wooden log into a little model of a swoop. She didn't take her eyes off her work when the front door opened.

'Finley Knockstone, where have you…?' she began to scold, but her voice trailed away when she saw that she had five guests. She shook her head, her gentle face crinkled with dismay.

'Finley, who are they?' she whispered to her husband as the Flitters placed their belongings in an un-tidy pile and Marion collapsed on the bear fur rug. Finley licked his lips.

'Gnome refugees. The lady's sick. I could hardly let the wee buggers go up to the camp what with her condition and the bloomin' awful weather, like.'

'But I thought you said all gnomes are a bunch o' bolt-heads?'

'They are.'

'But…'

'Leave it, Samyah.'

So Samyah left it. For all her prejudices, she was a good Dwavern soul and wouldn't let a single creature perish if she could help it in some way. She found a large shawl to tuck over Marion, and served Rodney and his daughters a hot, syrupy punch; sweet to the taste and instantly warming. From anyone looking in from the outside, it seemed that the two families, Dwavern and Gnomish, had been friends their whole lives, and this simple act of charity was a daily occurrence.

_Dear Log, _

_I can't stop crying. I keep trying to stop but I just can't. I wish someone had told me earlier that nothing ever goes as you want it. We have to push so hard and yet nothing comes of anything- only the worst. I wish I had told Arthas before he went away. He and I were lonely and everyone was so proud and rude and we just needed someone to tell us that we were wonderful and sweet and clever and worthy. And now I shall never get to tell him. I shall never ever get to tell him anything again. _

_Rae ~_

The warm lights of the Dwavern city shining out from the crevasses of Ironforge Mountain looked so welcoming and comfortable that Flink would probably have given himself up if it meant being able to get out of the rain and cold. But of course he wouldn't – that would not be honourable, and besides, he had Tel to think about, curled up in a ball beside him, snoring loudly. Flink pushed his thick black Orcish hair away from his face, tensed with the effort of trying to stay awake and stay focused at the same time. It wasn't often that he was chosen for a mission as dangerous as this – to spy on the Alliance in the middle of their territory was almost suicidal. However, Flink felt no fear; the excitement of serving the rest of the Horde stopped any nerves entering his huge, bulking body. He remembered how his father had slapped him on the back and wished him luck, how his mother had cried and his brother had eyed him enviously. He, Flink, was going to make them proud.

Tel awoke with a start.

'Huh…guh?'

'Shh!' Flink hissed, his eyes narrowing with concentration. He was watching the surrounding trees for any wild animals that would provide a good meal; a hare, perhaps; maybe even a boar. His mouth started watering at the thought.

'Flink, why are we here again?' Tel asked, his uneven shape just visible in the dark.

'I keep telling you – we're here to…to watch the Alliance. Or something. Yes, that's it. We need to watch for any suspicious activity.'

Tel shrugged and rolled over, burrowing his face into his cloak.

'Flink, I'm hungry.'

'Oh, shut up.'

Tel swallowed heavily and Flink instantly regretted snapping at him. Tel was different from the other orcs, Flink knew that. He knew it better than most. Tel couldn't swing an axe or skin a rabbit. He couldn't command soldiers and he couldn't build a fire. But Tel could sense things, terrible things, things that needed to be sensed. That's why the Horde needed him, and Flink knew, though he had never said it out loud, that it was the only reason why Tel hadn't been thrown out into the Wetlands without any supplies to perish – the punishment for uselessness.

CRASH!

Yet another clap of vicious lightning lashed out over the orcs' heads.

'Flink, I don't like it.'

'I know, I know. Just try and stay quiet a little longer.'

'Flink?'

'Tel, please…'

'_Flink!_'

Flink turned swiftly, about to loose his temper, when he saw that Tel was pointing at the sky, his mouth dropping slowly. Flink followed his gaze upwards and his own eyes widened in wonder and dread.

A hippogriff, visible now in the moonlight, was flapping its wings and kicking its legs mid-flight, screeching and twisting, in a terrible rage.

'The storm must have driven it mad…' Flink whispered to himself, but Tel grabbed his arm and pointed again.

'Flink! Trouble – trouble in the sky! Falling!'

And he was right. The hippogriff had, in its temper, dislodged something small from its back. The object was falling at high speed, and it appeared to be kicking.

'In the name of Orgrimmar…it's alive!'

The creature, still thrashing out madly as if to grab hold of an invisible ladder or a pair of arms, fell with a sickening crunch through a nearby clump of pine trees. The two orcs heard a gentle _thud_ on the distant snow. They looked at each other for a moment, then Tel grinned brightly.

'Flink – _food!_'

With this, he started running blindly to where they had seen the creature fall.

'No, Tel! Wait! Don't be a fool! Tel, please, no – _wait_!' Flink hissed desperately as his companion became a soft dark blur in the density of the surroundings. He sighed heavily, and ran after him. He didn't have any other option.

He found Tel easily (the muffled, heavy breathing wasn't hard to miss), and they stared, dumbfounded, at what they had found.

The creature was very small, clearly an infant, and scarily still, though they could see in the slits of moonlight pouring through the trees that it was breathing. She – from what they could make out – had a fluffy mane of bright purple hair against pale blush-ish skin and sharp, Elven features. Flink went and knelt down beside her, examining her tiny robe. The small engraving on the fabric was that of the Temple of the Moon in night elf city of Darnassus – this little creature was a night elf.

'But…but Teldressil…that's across the Great Sea!'

Tel wasn't listening. He was eyeing the night elf with a silent look of confusion and curiosity. Flink chuckled.

'Well, she's only a little one, but she'll make out to be a good meal…'

Tel looked alarmed.

'No, Tel won't eat little night elf!'

'Oh for sky's sake, Tel, you were only just complaining earlier how hungry you were.'

'But…but…'

'But what, you big harpy?'

'She's so little! Let's keep her. Can we keep her, Flink?'

'Don't be so stupid. She's one of _them_. She's the _Alliance_. That little piece of vermin is _the enemy!_'

'Little piece of vermin…little!'

'She may be little, but she's too big for my comfort. C'mon. We'll slit her throat, nice and quick, no fuss.'

'_No_, Flink…'

But Flink had already scooped up the young elf, who whimpered, and had swung her over his shoulder like a bit of road kill.

Tel was miserable.

And when Tel was miserable, Tel always worked out what he had to do to make himself happy again.

Hence why, moments later, when Flink had placed their prize down by their belongings and headed off into the trees to empty his bladder, Tel came along and lifted the night elf girl up in his arms. The wind stirred the trees uneasily, but it soothed him. The elf's little face was so perfectly shaped in the moon light, and Tel smiled. He was going to be the hero.

Tel didn't know how long or how far he ran with her tucked under his arm. The rain had started up again, the clouds covering the moon, and it battered him the way his uncle used to when he was a child – angrily, relentlessly. He was about to lie down there and then in the snow and try to shield himself from nature, but then he saw the house.

It was a small house, no bigger than two or three rooms, and clearly Dwavern built, with wonderful lashings of fire light beaming through the windows. Inside, there seemed to be a party. A male and female dwarf, both with thick red hair, and five gnomes. The eldest female gnome was curled up in a shawl, looking exhausted but still smiling, watching the three younger gnomes dance around by the hearth whilst the dwarves played a lovely, merry tune on two tin whistles.

Tel looked at the creatures. He turned his gaze downwards and looked at the night elf. He knew what he had to do. Walking as gently and as swiftly as he could manage, he approached the rear entrance of the house. Placing the night elf down on the stone steps outside the door and banging several times on the rough timber, he ran into the trees.

He waited.

The back door opened and he heard a female Dwavern accent, sighing deeply.

'Ruddy young 'uns knockin' and runnin'...you'd have thought their parents would…Oh my! Finley! Come quick!'

That was all Tel needed to know his job was done. He fell to his knees and tears blurred his sight.

'Tel done wrong…Tel done wrong…' he mumbled, sobs choking him.

Dozens of miles away, just off the coast of Westfall, the hippogriff wept its own tears as it made its way home to a now childless couple.


End file.
